


The Great "i'm a better grandparent than you" Bake Off

by weestarmeggie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baking, Crack Fic, F/M, Fluff, House Elves, Kid Fic, Mary Berry is a witch, Romance, Secrets, inspired by the great british bake off
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weestarmeggie/pseuds/weestarmeggie
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy ruins his grandfather's day and nothing in the Malfoy family will ever be the same again.





	1. Lucius Malfoy has a very bad day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RiverWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverWriter/gifts).



> This is pure crack for Riverwriter - blame her <3

There were some days that Lucius wondered what on earth he’d done right in his existence to deserve the life he was currently living. He was fully aware that he had done some awful things; allowing himself to be branded as a follower of a mad-man and then allowing his only child to be used and abused by said mad-man years later, were both things he deeply regretted. But it was the fact that he’d at one point contemplated cutting the same son out of his life for his choice in fiancee that caused him the most regret. For he would subsequently have missed out on the pure joy that his grandson Scorpius brought to his and his wife, Narcissa’s life - he shuddered at the thought.

So yes, Lucius Malfoy was extremely grateful to have been given another chance, especially when one of the primary reason’s for his happiness came skipping down the halls of Malfoy Manor and scampered into his lap. Lucius was reminded, often, by Narcissa that he’d never allowed Draco to clamber all over him like he did Scorpius, but Lucius only ever smirked at his wife and reminded her that he wasn’t the only grandparent the young Malfoy Heir had wrapped around his finger.

“Grandfather,” Scorpius grinned, his tiny arms wrapping around Lucius’ neck to give him a hug. Lucius smiled gently at his grandson when he pulled back.

“Good afternoon Scorpius. How was your day?”

Scorpius immediately delved into storytelling mode, a trait Lucius attributed to his mother and rattled off his day. Lucius listened carefully and nodded at the appropriate moments. His heart was fit to bursting as he watched his grandson’s myriad of facial expressions and he wished the moment would last forever. Unfortunately, as all good things must, the moment ended and he was snapped back to reality by the squirming four year old.

“They were the best Grandfather. I tried to bring some back for you but Uncle Ronald took the last one when I wasn’t looking and,” he sighed dramatically and cast his gaze behind Lucius.

“I’m sorry Scorpius,” Lucius said, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion at his grandson’s sudden melancholy, “what were the best?”

Scorpius’ eyes snapped back to his and Lucius felt his blood turn cold at the words that slipped from his mouth. “The cookies Grandfather, Nana Molly’s cookies. They’re even better than the one’s Miffy gives me everytime I visit.”

Lucius shifted in his chair so that Scorpius was facing him again. “Surely you don’t mean that?”

Scorpius sighed dramatically, again, “but i do.”

“Scorpius! Scorp it’s time to go,” Draco called, and Lucius loosened his grip on his grandson to let him up and allowed him to pull him up too.

“Mummy is taking me back tomorrow while she and father are at work,” he whispered conspiratorially when they reached the living room doorway. Lucius flicked his eyes through the crack in the door to see his son helping a visibly pregnant Hermione from one of the sofa’s whilst the pair of them spoke quietly to Narcissa, his eyes flicked back to his grandson, “and I’ll try and get her to give me some more.” His eyes lit up as a thought crossed his mind, “maybe she could bake me a cake. Oh Grandfather,” he grinned, “wait until you try the cake.”

He was still hunkered down on the floor outside of the living room when Narcissa opened the door a few minutes later.

“Lucius what on earth are you doing?”

He blinked, straightened himself out and leaned forward to give his wife a quick kiss on the cheek. “Nothing,” he murmured before he turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor leaving a bewildered Narcissa in his wake.

* * *

 

He hadn’t even meant for it to happen. He’d simply floo’ed into Draco and Hermione’s home one afternoon with the explicit purpose of picking Hermione up, so that he could escort both her and Narcissa to a ministry event that Draco was hosting, when it did. Hermione had been running late and insisted that he settle himself on the couch in their  _ very muggle styled _ living room for a few minutes whilst she finished getting ready. And he had. He’d also accidentally sat down on a device he’d learned over the years controlled the big black screen they had on the wall and was suddenly enthralled in a television program he’d later learned was called  _ The Great British Bake Off.  _

It had changed his life.

He suddenly found himself sneaking into their home when they were both at work to indulge in the greatness that was Mary Berry. He was convinced she was a witch, for how else could she come up with such magnificent creations. When he’d watched every available season he’d sent his personal elf, Hobson, to procure him her cookbooks from a muggle bookstore using any means necessary. The elf had stared up at him in worry for a few moments before he’d blinked away. Within the hour Lucius was ensconced in his office reading the first of many books that the woman had written and within the week he’d made it down to the kitchens, a place he had avoided most of his adult life, banished all the elves and made his first attempt at a Victoria sponge. 

It had not gone well. In fact it took months for him to produce something that the elves would eat themselves and a further six months after that, for him to work up the courage to present something to his family. When Narcissa had called Miffy, their head cooking elf, to the dining room and praised her for her hard work, Lucius and the elf had shared a look that conveyed exactly how he felt in the moment - they were not to know the truth. And so the fact had remained a secret. Lucius continued to sneak down to the kitchens and gradually made his way through the first book, always presenting the finished product on a friday evening when Draco and Hermione arrived for dinner.

And when Hermione announced her pregnancy he began to work harder. Malfoys deserved, got and were the best and he was determined that his future grandchild would learn that from an early age.

So, the revelation that his grandson thought his baking inferior to Molly ‘bloody’ Weasleys - well. It wasn’t good enough. Scorpius was clearly under some sort of delusion and Lucius was adamant to rectify him of it.

He summoned his favourite of Berry’s books,  _ Absolute Favourites _ and set to work on what he knew to be Scorpius’ - a four tiered chocolate extravaganza that he knew would set Hermione’s teeth on edge. 

When it was done, after a painstaking three and a half hours, he leaned back and glanced at Miffy, who’d joined him at some point.

“Let’s see Molly Weasley beat that.”

Miffy nodded.


	2. Draco Malfoy is the luckiest Malfoy there ever was

There were many moments in Draco Lucius Malfoy’s life where he thanked Merlin for the gift that was Hermione Malfoy, nee Granger.

He didn’t deserve her. And he didn’t doubt for a second that he ever would. Still, she had obviously, at some point during the War, hit her head and deigned to give him a chance at redemption. He would be forever grateful to any and all the God’s for it.

He wasn’t the only Malfoy male either that owed her their life. 

Lucius Malfoy had been a terrible father to Draco. He knew it. Narcissa knew it. Draco knew it. So it wasn’t surprising to Draco when he announced his relationship with Hermione, that his father immediately railed against it and promised his son that the whole thing would be behind them within six months. 

It wasn’t surprising to Draco when his father continued to spurt off about blood purity even though they’d just survived, by the skin of their teeth no less, a war that proved it was nothing more than hippogriff dung. 

It wasn’t surprising to Draco when his father continued to turn his nose up at Hermione, ignoring her presence and continuously, to his mother’s utter shame and horror, presented, what he deemed, more suitable matches at their weekly dinners. 

It wasn’t surprising to Draco that it took Narcissa swearing upon her familial Black magic that if he didn’t “ _ buck up _ ” he’d find himself facing the wrath of a house much darker than the “ _ Mighty Malfoys”,  _ for him to stop.

Perhaps it did surprise him when he seemed to  _ genuinely _ begin to care for Granger and see her as something more than the muggleborn witch that had bested his son for six years of continuous schooling and as an intellectual worthy of his conversation.

And it definitely surprised him when he began to drop hints to the pair of them that living together in sin wasn’t proper and perhaps they should make things official - even if Hermione had been wearing the Malfoy betrothal ring for over a year.

The biggest surprise though, had been the way he’d taken to looking after Hermione during her pregnancy with Scorpius and then, his relationship with him itself, for Draco couldn’t remember a single moment where the man had ever smiled at him as adoringly as he did Scorpius or where he’d indulged his fantasies the way he did those of his son.

So, it wasn’t a surprise for Draco to find the man, his father, the great Lucius Malfoy, waiting impatiently by the floo when they stepped through one afternoon. 

Scorpius had spent the day at The Burrow, whilst he and Hermione had been at work. Molly had been apologetic, but insisted that Scorpius had asked for all the cakes and sweet treats she was sending home with the pair of them.

“He said he promised his grandfather,” she grinned. Draco rolled his eyes. The man complained incessantly that it was unnatural for the Weasleys and Malfoys to have such an intimate relationship but had no problem eating Molly Weasley's baking?

“Thank you Molly,” Draco murmured, scooping Scorpius, along with the mountain of containers, into his arms and stepping through the floo. His son clutched against his chest tightly as the green flames engulfed them both and swept them off to his own ancestral home.

* * *

 

Lucius was waiting patiently by the floo the next afternoon. 

Narcissa had eyed him warily when he’d settled into one of the highback chairs, book in hand.

“What are you doing?”

He hadn’t seen her standing there and jumped, “nothing,” he squeaked. Narcissa had raised one eyebrow, hummed and walked away. Lucius cursed his disposition. Malfoys didn’t squeak. He had to get a handle of himself. He didn’t need anyone, especially his wife, figuring out his secret.

He didn’t have to wait long for his visitors. The floo flared to life and Draco, Scorpius - his arms filled with containers - in tow, came tumbling out. Draco had barely got his balance before Scorpius was leaping out of his arms and into Lucius’.

“GRANDFATHER!” He exclaimed, containers spilling from his arms, forgotten in his excitement. Lucius stopped them from clattering to the floor without a thought and hugged his grandson tightly. “Afternoon Scorpius,” he said, ignoring Draco and the way he rolled his eyes at the formal way he spoke to his grandson. “What’s all this?” He asked as innocently as possible, making a show of glancing at the numerous containers.

“I asked Nana Molly for some cake to bring and she gave me ALL of these,” he said, grinning toothily up at Lucius.

Lucius nodded, and continued to ignore Draco’s presence - his son’s amusement was palpable, “why don’t we take these down to the kitchen and try some of them yes?”

He didn’t wait for an answer he simply turned on his heel, Scorpius in his arms, the containers floating behind them.

“I’m fine by the way,” Draco called behind them, “I don’t want any cake.”

“Good,” Lucius called back.

* * *

 

It hadn’t taken Draco long to know he was in love with Hermione. Days spent together in their returning eighth year’s common room, quietly studying and then partnered together in the DMLE, had rid Draco of any lingering misconceptions about the witch he might have had. Even six years after that day they’d confessed their feeling’s for each other at Potter’s wedding to his favourite Weasley, or Potterette as he  _ affectionately _ referred to her, he was still just as, if not more so, in love with the woman.

Especially when he watched her (six months pregnant nonetheless), settle their son into bed after a long day at The Burrow and a few hours at his parents manor - a manor, whose floor she had writhed and screamed and cried upon all those years ago, yet still stepped into with her head held high - with nothing but words of encouragement and love on her lips.

Draco moved back from the door frame when Scorpius flashed him a grin and waited for Hermione to finish saying goodnight.

“You could have waited for me downstairs,” she murmured quietly, flashing him a smile that still made his heart skip, and gently pulled Scorpius’ door closed, “I am capable of the short trip myself you know?” She teased.

Draco smirked and stepped towards her, “maybe I don’t want you to go down the stairs. Maybe I have plans for you that involve a completely different room?”

Hermione’s lips twitched and she turned to look at him as she continued to walk down the hall. “Did you hear what Scorpius was saying to me there now?” She asked, when they’d settled into the bath together, Hermione between his leg’s, her head resting against his chest. Draco shook his head, then realised his wife couldn't see him, “no,” he muttered, unwilling to break the peacefulness of the moment, “what was it?”

Hermione shifted and turned her head up towards him. Draco opened his eyes to see her smiling softly, “he said that Lucius took him into the Manor’s kitchen to try Molly’s baking.”

Draco hummed, “yeah, no, I knew that.”

“Did you also know that he told Scorpius a secret?”

Draco tensed. Suddenly a million awful things flashed before his mind until he felt Hermione’s hand cupping his jaw, “It’s not bad Draco,” she murmured gently. He relaxed instantly and wrapped his arms around her, resting his hands on her bump. 

“What was it?”

“Did you know he bakes?”

“Who? Scorpius?”

Hermione snorted and flicked his bare nipple, “no silly. Your father.”

Draco scoffed and lay his head back against the edge of the bath, “Don’t be ridiculous love. Malfoy’s don’t bake.”

  
  



	3. Narcissa Malfoy was a 'Slytherin' and a 'Black' first

Narcissa Malfoy had been through a lot in her forty-four years as a witch. 

She’d lived, and survived, two wizarding wars. She’d married and given birth to her wonderful, if not at time’s incredibly prattish and stubborn son. She’d watched said son struggle throughout his teenage years with the responsibilities of his father and then, the madman his father had so foolishly encouraged him to follow. It had taken a long time for Draco to come back to life after the war. And she was in no doubt as to whom she owed for that miracle. It helped of course, that Scorpius Malfoy was an absolute darling whom she loved more than she ever thought possible and her future granddaughter (for Narcissa was convinced that Hermione was going to give birth to the first Malfoy female in generations) too - even if she was currently kicking her mother’s bladder to pieces.

“Are you okay dear?” Narcissa asked, wincing slightly when Hermione gasped. Draco had been a kicker too.

“I’ll be better when this one starts behaving,” she sighed, lifting her tea to her lips once again. Narcissa grinned at her daughter -in -law. “She’s just excited to join the rest of us.”

“She’s just excited to torture me like him,” Hermione groaned as Scorpius came skidding into the room, chocolate cake smeared across his face. Narcissa laughed. 

“Come darling. Mummy needs to relax and you need cleaned up,” she said, standing from her seat and offering her hand to her grandson. Scorpius smiled and eagerly took her hand in his. Hermione flashed her a smile and mouthed ‘thank you’ as they left the room.

“I want to show you something Grandmother,” Scorpius said, diverting them from their path and towards the kitchens instead. Narcissa frowned.

“Show me what Scorp-” she stopped abruptly when Scorpius pushed open the door and the kitchen was revealed. Scorpius slipped his hand from hers and skipped towards Lucius, who, was to Narcissa’s utter bewilderment, standing over the counter mixing, what she assumed to be cake batter given the numerous cakes that surrounded him already, and muttering to himself. He hadn’t noticed her.

“Pass me that butter please Scorpius,” he said, gesturing with his chin in it’s direction as he continued to stir.

“Look Grandmother, I’m helping.” Scorpius said. Lucius’ head snapped up, his eyes wide as he caught sight of his wife in the doorway. Narcissa raised an eyebrow and he gulped.

* * *

 

“So,” she began, setting her teacup down and finally addressing the elephant in the room, “you’re the one who’s been baking all this time. Not Miffy?”

Hermione and Scorpius had left not long after Narcissa had caught her husband in the act, so to speak, and he’d avoided her until dinnertime.

Lucius hummed and Narcissa smiled into her cup. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not very becoming of a Malfoy,” he sneered. Narcissa laughed, almost choking on her drink and Lucius leaned forward to pat her on the back but she simply waved him off.

“You’re delusional,” she eventually choked out, tears blinding her, “I think it’s wonderful.”

Lucius eyed her warily, his lips pursing. “I expected more derision.”

“I don’t think you expected anything husband. I don’t think you planned on ever telling me if Scorpius hadn’t revealed your  _ secret _ himself.”

“Little terror,” he mumbled under his breath and Narcissa grinned. She stood from her chair and made her way around the table and settled herself on his lap, her arms wrapping around his neck. She nuzzled her nose against his and felt him relax under her. 

“Why all the baking more recently?” She asked. Lucius huffed, his lips curling into a scowl, his eyes narrowing and his fingers circling the rim of his own abandoned tea.

“Scorpius informed me,” he replied haughtily, “that his Nana Molly’s baking was better than Miffy’s, or well, mine. I’m determined to set him right.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened in surprise. “Molly Weasley? He thinks her baking is better than our’s - than your’s?” She amended. Lucius continued to stare harshly at his cup and simply nodded. Narcissa leapt up from his lap. “Well that’s simply unacceptable,” she murmured, to herself more than anyone else.

“Where are you going?” Lucius called after her as she swept from the dining room. She popped her head back around the doorframe and smirked. 

“To rectify the situation.”

* * *

 

She stepped through her son and daughter in law’ floo with little to no flourish, sweeping the dust from her body and stopping dead at the sight of Draco and Hermione heatedly snogging on the couch. She cleared her throat, pointedly looking at the crown moulding of their living room to alert them of her presence. She was vaguely aware of Draco scrambling off Hermione and smirked. She had warned them about having their main floo connection connected to that room. “I’m sorry,” she said after a few moment’s, turning her head to look at them, “but I need to speak to Hermione son.” Draco nodded, avoiding his mother’s eye and mumbled something about tea before scarpering from the room.

“Narcis-”

“Hermione don’t,” she laughed, moving across the room to seat herself beside her daughter in law, “I remember all too well those last few months of Draco’s pregnancy.”

Hermione blanched and Narcissa’s smirk grew, “Anyway,” she began, swiftly changing the subject, “I need your help.”

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed and when Narcissa began to explain her eyes widened in shock.

“Oh my God,” she murmured when Narcissa had finished. “That’s…..Wow.”

Narcissa nodded primly, “Yes. So….you’ll help me then?”

Hermione smirked and Narcissa saw her son’s influence clear as day, “oh yes,” she nodded, pulling herself up, “I’ll help.”

* * *

 

“Molly?” Hermione called as she stepped through the Weasley’s floo, Narcissa following closely behind.

“Hermione?” The Weasley matriarch replied, stepping out of the kitchen, her face alight with worry, “What’s wrong? Is everything ok? Is it the baby? It’s not time is it?”

Hermione stepped forwards and clutched her hands in her own. “No, no everything is fine,” she reassured her, “I just,” she hesitated and glanced at Narcissa who simply nodded,”  **we** have a proposition for you.”

“Oh dear,” Molly laughed, relaxing instantly and ushering them towards the sofa. Narcissa continued to stand as she watched the pair of witches, “I thought something was wrong.”

Hermione laughed and rubbed a hand over her stomach, “No everything is fine. I, we, were just wondering if you’d be interested in a little competition?”

Molly’s face pinched in confusion. “Competition?”

* * *

“Here,” Narcissa said, dropping a piece of parchment into Lucius’ lap when she returned home two hours later. 

Lucius looked up from the book he was reading and frowned as he read over the words. “What is this?” He asked.

Narcissa smirked. “Hermione’s baby shower is in a week. You and Molly are both going to bake a cake.” Lucius eyes widened and he leapt up from his chair.

“No.”

“Oh yes,” Narcissa said, her smirk transforming into a grin, “and we’re going to judge it.”

Lucius spluttered. “A competition?!” Narcissa nodded. 

“Yes. Either Scorpius will be proved wrong or….” she trailed off deliberately and left her unspoken words hanging.

“Or he’ll be proved right,” Lucius mumbled, his eyes wide, “this is. No. I can’t - I won’t do this ‘Cissa.”

“You will,” she grinned, “and you’ll win. We’re Malfoys. We always win.”

Lucius’ eyes narrowed at her expression. “You are such a Slytherin.”

Narcissa shrugged, “A Black too,” she reminded him, relishing in the way her husband shuddered at the reminder.


End file.
